His mind like a deciduous forest <br />has shed all its leaves <br />in the blighting autumnal blast. <br />It is bare - dismally barren <br />of all memories - sweet and sour. <br />Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky <br />moving nowhere, but as the wind directs, <br />cut out from the past, turned from the present <br />with the future yet to surge from the abyss <br />or like serpents intertwining, <br />hissing in turmoil within the brain, <br />unable to sense the gusty blast, <br />or hear the whispering air, <br />dead to sounds that disturb, <br />deaf to songs that soothe, <br />like a phantom he moves weird, <br />drifting far away <br />to a space and time impenetrable <br />with nothing to make the mind agog <br />or depress it to let out a sigh. <br /> <br />Loitering on roads without hurrying feet <br />with no bliss coming on the way <br />to run or hasten to embrace <br />or fear to be missed so sore <br />passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels <br />forever barred with no exit <br />churned in oblivion, oblivious of all, <br />he remains a spectral facsimile <br />of his one time self <br />with dreary nights ahead <br />that shall not know another morrow.<br /><br />Valsa George<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/demented-souls-a-re-submission/
